


achilles come down

by nott_the_best1



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Inspired by Achilles Come Down (Gang of Youths), cw alcoholism, cw suicide, elias is a bad father, everyone is going to be okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28543050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nott_the_best1/pseuds/nott_the_best1
Summary: He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out when he finally saw him. An hour, maybe two, all he knew was that he was far, far from the London Institute. But there he was.Thomas Lightwood.AKA: I tried to write a "thomas come down" fic and it turned into this angsty self-indulgent mess. please read notes for content warnings.
Relationships: Alastair Carstairs/Thomas Lightwood
Comments: 2
Kudos: 64





	achilles come down

**Author's Note:**

> this started out as “thomas come down” and then turned into an angsty self-indulgent mess. i’m so sorry. the title, of course, is from the song by gang of youths, which inspired this fic. the song is long but it’s very good, and I imagine it addressing thomas’ reckless behavior: the first two verses being the merry thieves, then perhaps lucie, third verse is himself, then alastair for verse four.
> 
> content warnings: this is a fic literally about alastair talking thomas off of a bridge, so do with that what you will. mention or instance of: suicide, suicidal ideation, alcoholism, grief, loss of a family member, implied homophobia

Sona Carstairs was in the Silent City. There’d been some emergent complications with her pregnancy, and it was likely that she would need to deliver now. Elias was nowhere to be found, unsurprisingly. Cordelia had accompanied their mother to the City of Bones while Alastair agreed to search for Elias. _I’d go, but-_ she’d said, but he cut her off. It was dangerous for her to walk the city at night, especially alone, and one of them needed to stay with their mother. 

Off he’d gone into the night, but he quickly realized that he wasn’t searching for his father at all. He was just walking.

He understood that most people thought it odd - Cordelia certainly did - but there were few things on this Earth that could calm him the way a long walk could. The problem, however, being that the solace would end as soon as he stopped walking. 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out when he finally saw him. An hour, maybe two, all he knew was that he was far, far from the London Institute. But there he was.

Thomas Lightwood. 

Stumbling on the ledge of a bridge, bottle in hand. 

He recalled a conversation with his sister a few days prior. She’d seemed off, bothered by something. _It’s Thomas,_ she’d finally confessed. _He keeps doing increasingly reckless things, and, I don’t know, everyone is worried. We’re Shadowhunters, we do dangerous things all the time, but it’s different. Lucie was just beside herself earlier. She tried to talk to him, but he just won’t listen. The other boys have tried, too, I think, but they won’t talk about it. I’m just worried that he’ll do something that can’t be undone._

His heart beginning to race, he climbed onto the bridge. Thomas was sitting now, at least, and the ledge was a bit wider than it had appeared from the road, but he was careful to not look down as he made his way to Thomas. 

He turned his head, finally noticing the other boy’s presence. “Alastair? What- How- How did you find me? Who told you to come here?” 

“I was just going for a walk,” he lied.

“Kensington is across the city.” 

“I came from the Institute, actually. Which is still across the city, but I’ve been walking for a while.” 

“Well, you can keep walking, then. I believe I’ve made it quite clear that I don’t wish to speak with you.” 

Alastair hoped that Thomas could not see the way he was trembling. “I know, and I don’t intend to disrespect your wishes. If you still wish to throw me in the Thames, you may. I believe I’ve made it quite easy for you. I just need you to hear me out for a moment. Thomas, put down the bottle, come down from here. Please.” 

“Why would I ever listen to you,” he spat. 

He made his way closer to Thomas, closer than he should have, dangerously close. “Because I know where you’re sitting,” he said in a low voice. 

“You don’t know anything about me,” he scoffed. 

Alastair sat down next to him and just thought. Minutes passed, and he had not responded, but he was terrified of saying the wrong things. There were a million things he’d wished to tell Thomas Lightwood. “I… was seeing someone, you know,” he said finally. “For almost two years, on and off. It was incredible at first - I felt so sophisticated and the secrecy of it all was exhilarating. Then, something changed, or maybe it didn’t, that’s just who he was all along, and I just didn’t realize. I don’t know, but eventually, I was tearing myself apart so that I could be whoever he needed me to be without ever receiving the same in return. I suppose… I suppose I thought that that’s what love was supposed to be. I’ve certainly never known it to be anything else. Perhaps that’s just what happens when one spends more nights in his adolescence dragging his father home from bars than actually sleeping.” 

Alastair exhaled slowly before continuing. “I spent so much time and energy trying to be whoever everyone else wanted me to be - whoever _he_ wanted, whoever my father wanted, whoever the boys at the Academy wanted, whoever _England_ wanted. Whoever I convinced myself that I needed to be to survive. This… This is so stupid, but the time I spent with you, in Paris and then that day in lab, it was the first time in so long that I’d felt free and safe to be myself in the company of another person. Sitting with you, I realized how tired I was of all of the pretending.

“Perhaps you’re right, Thomas, perhaps I don’t actually know anything about you. Perhaps _you_ are not who I think you are. I don’t know what the voices in your head are telling you, but this is who _I_ know you to be: you are safety, and you are kindness, and you are selfless in a way that is careful to never burden another. You are someone who loves endlessly, unconditionally, and there are countless people in this city alone who love you endlessly, and you deserve all of it. You see the best in people, even when they see no good in themselves. You are brilliant, observant, attentive, and I’ve never met an Englishman who can speak Persian as well as you do. You are much more than I could enumerate to you in one night, and you are certainly more than whoever you see yourself to be in wake of your pain.” 

He paused once more, waiting to see if Thomas had anything to say, before continuing. “I know that you hate me and that you shouldn’t listen to a thing I say, but if you would oblige me just this one time, listen to this: please come down. Please stop torturing yourself this way. Quit holding your pain in so tightly. You’re allowed to grieve, Thomas. You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to feel whatever it is you’re feeling. If you keep burying it inside you, it will destroy you from the inside out, and it will destroy everyone around you. Believe me, I’ve been on both ends. We aren’t meant to do this alone.” 

There was silence once more until Thomas finally spoke, his voice quiet. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.” 

“Well, you could have fooled me,” Alastair replied, cocking his head sideways in a sly manner.

“I was certain you’d hate _me_ , after all that I’ve said.” 

“That seems like it would be a bit hypocritical. Besides, you had plenty of cause to say the things you have.” 

“Not all of them. I was just angry… and confused.” 

“That’s just as much cause as anything. I’m happy to put in the past if you are.” 

He only nodded slowly in response. 

“Did you hear anything else I said, though?” Alastair asked semi-jokingly. “I’m out here dramatically monologuing on the edge of a bridge past midnight, Thomas. Lucie would lose her mind if she knew.” 

Thomas bit back a smile. “Yeah, I… I know that you’re right. It’s just… I miss her so much, and it feels like I need to do _anything_ just to get the hurting to stop for a moment. Sometimes I even forget, just for a second, or I wake up in the morning and think that she’s just down the hall, but then I remember and it’s like… it’s like I’m being told all over again. I know that I’m driving my parents mad and I know how much I’m hurting them, and they’ve already hurt _so much_. I feel like I’m just making all of this worse. Sometimes, it just seems like it would be better to just… end it all now. Less painful in the long-run.” 

Alastair thought for a moment. “Your sister… If you had to go through the pain of losing her all over again, from the beginning, just to spend one more day with her, would you do it?” 

He didn’t even need to think about it. “Of course.” 

“Love is painful, Thomas. Sometimes more than is fair. Love is… deadly, dangerous, the most dangerous thing in the world, even. More dangerous than sitting on the edge of a bridge, certainly. That is just the price we pay because without it, where would we be? _Who_ would we be? What would the world become without it? There’d be no art or architecture, no beauty at all. It would be every man for himself. It would be empty. This hurt may be the cost of loving you right now, but I can promise you that they’d pay it a thousand times because you’re worth more to them than all of it. You don’t need to go through this alone, Thomas. You can let them in.” 

Thomas didn’t respond for a few minutes. “When did you become so wise?” 

Alastair sighed. “I have been reading a lot of Rumi lately.” 

Thomas let out a bit of a chuckle. “Really?” 

“Yeah, well… It reminded me of you, if I’m being honest. I know you prefer the _Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam_ , it’s oddly popular in England, but I don’t know… I could find a dozen men right now without even trying who would wax poetic about the simple pleasures in life if I asked. Not that you shouldn’t enjoy it, but it’s not what I prefer to read.” 

“This really is quite peculiar,” Thomas observed, staring at him. “Have you ever even spoken this much before? At least without my consistent and careful pestering, that is.” 

Alastair bit his lip. “Maybe not to anyone who was actually listening.” He could recall rambling to Charles on several occasions, but he never cared much for what he had to say. It was odd, Thomas was correct, that he was being so open and honest so easily. He thought about a line he’d read earlier: _you have to keep breaking your heart until it opens._ Perhaps seeing Thomas up on this bridge, knowing what may happen, was enough to finally break his heart wide open. Or perhaps it was just fluke, he was delirious with exhaustion from the day he’d had, and he was desperate to say anything that would stop Thomas from doing something foolish, and the moment they’d step down from the bridge, the fortress he’d built around himself would return. Perhaps it was both.

“I’d listen to you all night.” 

“You just might, if we don’t get down from here. What do you say? Allow me to walk you home?” 

Thomas exhaled. “Fine, but not home. I haven’t been home in days; my parents will be furious.” 

“No time like the present then.” 

“Alastair-” 

“I won’t force you into anything, but I’m certain that they must be worried about you. If you must endure their anger, so be it. You should be with your family right now, Thomas. It will ease all of your minds.” 

He thought for a moment. “Fine, I’ll go.” 

Thomas began to stand up, and Alastair felt the sparks of anxiety he’d felt climbing onto the bridge light up once again, urging him to be careful. 

Thomas paused and narrowed his eyes. “Alastair, are you afraid of heights?” 

If he could blush, Alastair would have. “What? No! Don’t be daft! I’m… I’m afraid of _falling_ … from heights. It’s a perfectly rational fear.” 

Thomas gave him a look that he couldn’t quite identify. “Right.” He climbed back onto the bridge, and then helped Alastair. “See? Not so bad.” 

He rolled his eyes. “My hero,” he deadpanned. 

“You must have lost your mind when Cordelia came home after getting knocked off of the bridge during that fight with the Mandikhor.” 

“What!?” Alastair squeaked. He cleared throat and tried again. “Sorry, I mean, what!?” He could recall the night he came home to Cordelia and James in the parlor, soaked to the bone, but he’d been so riled up about Charles that he nearly fought James, and his confession about their father soon after precluded any questioning into what happened that night. 

Thomas threw his hands up in defense. “I can see I’ve said too much already.” 

“You twat, let’s get you home.” 

The walk to Thomas’ home was shorter than he’d expected, but it was quiet the whole way there. Thomas wasn’t much in the mood for talking, which, while atypical, was understandable. 

He stopped in the street when they arrived, bidding Thomas a good night. “I’ll need to bring you one of my copies of Rumi sometime. It might be a bit difficult because it’s all in Persian, but… Well, I could help you, if you wanted.” He stopped for a moment and quickly supplied, “if you needed, I mean.” 

“I’d like that,” he replied quietly. “Thank you… For talking to me and for walking me home.” 

“Anytime, Thomas. Although, I must admit that I might prefer it under slightly different circumstances.” 

Thomas nodded. “Get home safe, Alastair.” 

Alastair watched Thomas as he walked up to his front door. Before he’d even reached it, the door flung open, his mother standing there, waiting for him. She threw his arms around him, holding him tightly. He then noticed his father standing behind her. It was difficult to see much in the dark, but they shared a brief moment as their eyes met, and Alastair turned quickly to begin the walk home. 

* * *

When Alastair found his father in the parlour room, most of the way through a bottle of brandy, he remembered what he was meant to be doing the whole night. He couldn’t suppress his scoff when he saw him. He wasn’t even trying to pretend like he was better anymore.

“Mâmân is in the Silent City, you know. She’ll soon give birth, if she hasn’t already, to your child, but you couldn’t be further from her side, could you? It’s not like you could even go there now, not in this state.” 

“Alastair. I will not tolerate such insolence in my house. Speak not of things you do not understand.”

“It’s hardly your house, though, is it? You’ve lived here but a few days.” 

Elias threw his glass against the wood floor and Alastair did his best to suppress his flinch as it shattered across the ground. “Silence, child.” His father had never resorted to physical violence, but he was not below quieting him in other ways when he was drunk. 

“I am not a child anymore.” Truly, it was unusual for him to defy his father in this way, even this past couple of weeks that he has been in London. When he was younger, he only wished for it all to be over as quickly and quietly as possible, and those old habits still lingered. 

“You are certainly behaving like one.” 

“Better a child, then, than the sorry excuse for a man you are. Why did you even come here? You could have stayed in France or wherever it was you’d abandoned us for, and we would have all been better off. I know not much can make it through your thick skull, but understand this. You have hurt my family and I for too long, and I will not allow it any longer. You must _choose_ , Elias. Us or the bottle. This is your final chance. I will not allow you to treat this baby the way you have treated Cordelia and I, never certain of where we were going or how long we were staying or if our father would even come home that night.” 

“Oh, really? You think you’re better than me, stronger than me, more powerful? I’ve seen the way people in this city speak of you, and you certainly are your father’s son. Tell me, Alastair, what is it you plan to do?” 

Alastair often did worry about how much like Elias he was, how he could seemingly turn off his emotions with no effort, despite it occasionally happening when he wished it would not. He pushed those fears aside, though, knowing that his father was just trying to get under his skin. “I care not what the sleazy bums you call people say about me, especially given the type of company you keep. In case you’ve forgotten, Cordelia knows the truth about you now, the truth about our childhood, and she’s married into one of the most powerful families in London. I-” He thought of Charles, and then of Thomas. Perhaps he was not as diplomatic as his younger sister. “Cordelia and I have both made our own connections here, and I believe you will find yourself quickly disappointed should you try to sway us. 

“Perhaps you believe that ****Mâmân will choose you over us, and perhaps she will. But is that a risk you’re willing to take? Do you truly trust that she would choose you over us? That she would side with her drunken husband over her own children, when _we_ are the ones who have stood by her and cared for her over the past months while you gave her only heartache? Do you think she _wants_ to again be forced to allow her _child_ to pick up after _your_ drunken messes? If you truly cared for us at all, you’d give up the bottle for good or you’d leave before you can cause us any more pain. I care not anymore if you choose to destroy yourself, but I will not allow you to destroy my family any longer.” 

Elias was silent for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “Ironic that you mention the kind of company I keep, given yours. Do you truly believe that your mother would side with you if she knew the truth?” 

Alastair curled his lips into a smile and let out an airy laugh. “You fool,” he said patronizingly. “She already knows.” 

It was a lie, of course, a quick and careful deception, but Elias tended to bring out the worst in him. He couldn’t look back on all of the things his father had said and done and say that he felt particularly guilty about it. If he truly planned to expose Alastair’s secret to Sona, he would have regardless. If that were to come to pass, he would manage it as it came, deny it, or, perhaps, confess it, and hope that his mother loves him enough to support him anyways. 

With that, he turned to leave the parlor room. “It’s your choice, Elias. Stay or go. Make it by morning.” 

He retreated into his bedroom, thinking about how he should make his way to the Silent City himself, now that Elias was fully informed. He would only need to calm down, and then he could be on his way. As he attempted to relax, however, he fell into a trance of fitful sleeping, awakening several hours later to the early-morning sun streaming in through his window. 

He shot out of bed, glancing into his mirror to straighten out any sign of all the things that had transpired the night before, and hurried down the stairs. The house was silent and empty. Perhaps his father had already left for the Silent City, he thought, but then he recalled their last conversation. He made his way trepidatiously back to the parlour room. The shards of glass from the night before were still scattered across the floor. On the end table beside where his father had sat was a note. 

  


He raced up the stairs to his parents’ bedroom, scanning his eyes across the room for any sign of his father. The bag that he’d brought with him from France was nowhere to be found. He tore into the closet, but there was nothing. He was gone. 

Alastair sunk to the floor. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. _“What have I done,”_ he whispered. 

He took a breath and returned to the parlour room with a broom and a dustpan. He’d need to tell Risa about it later, so they could make sure that there were no remnants left anywhere when the baby eventually began to crawl, but he needed to to at least clean up what he could before anyone returned to the house. He thought with a sick knot twisting in his stomach that this could be the final time he swept his father’s glass off of the floor. 

When the parlour room was clean enough, he took a moment to compose himself and grabbed his father’s note. On his way out the door, he paused at one of the bookshelves, pulling from it one of the titles he knew would be there: _Divan-i Shams-i Tabrizi,_ the “great work” of Rumi, so-to-speak. He doubted that he would run into Thomas, or if he would even recommend he start with such a deeply metaphorical text, but he suspected he may need a distraction at some point in the day before him. 

He caught a hansom cab to the Institute and tried his best to remain calm during the trip. When he arrived, he entered cautiously, many thoughts racing through his mind. What if something happened? He was only supposed to go searching for Elias, he wasn’t meant to be gone all night. What if someone asked where he’d been? What if something happened while he was gone? 

He found Cordelia first, thankfully, and she lit up when she saw him. He felt guilty being unable to return her excitement. “Alastair! There you are. Where’ve you been?” 

“What happened? Is Mâmân alright?” 

She nodded quickly. “Everything’s fine, Alastair. The baby was born a couple of hours ago. Everything went smoother than expected, they’re both doing wonderfully. They should be released from the Silent City later today. But- Alastair, did you not find Baba?” Her face contorted with worry. 

He looked down, careful to conceal any emotion from his face. He lifted his head slowly, extending the note Elias had left. He said nothing. 

Cordelia gasped. “No, no, this isn’t possible. This doesn’t make any sense,” she cried, her voice rising. To the side, he could see Will Herondale through the door to the kitchen, conversing with someone. 

“Cordelia-” he said in a low voice, attempting to tell her to be a bit quieter. 

“No!” She shouted. “No, this doesn’t make any sense. Why would he do this? Why now? You said something, didn’t you? You must have! What did you say? You must fix this.” 

He steeled against her accusations, even if they were true. “He made his choice, Cordelia. That’s all.” 

“No,” she said coldly. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For him to leave us? What did you do!” she shouted, getting in his face. 

He gritted his teeth and grabbed her wrists. “You think this is what I _wanted_? You don’t think that there’s still some stupid, foolish part of me who genuinely believed that he would _finally_ choose us, even though he never has before? He’s made his choice, Cordelia, _again_. You’ve no need to worry, dear sister, seeing as he did not leave _you_. You’re married, remember? You don’t live with us. We’ll be fine, Cordelia.”

He released her, and she stepped back in shock. “Alastair-” 

“I should make my way to the Silent City. I should be the one to tell her, seeing as, as you said, this was my doing.” He took the note back from her and left before she could respond. 

He cursed silently to himself, knowing that the exit nearest to Highgate Cemetery would be through the kitchen. They quieted as he walked through, and he was careful not to make eye contact. 

“Alastair-” Someone started. He turned to see Gideon Lightwood. “Thank you. Thank you for bringing Thomas home last night.” 

“It was nothing,” he said quickly, looking away. 

“It wasn’t nothing. Thank you.” 

He nodded his head quickly and continued out of the Institute. He took a deep, gasping breath of grassy air, not realizing that he’d even been holding it as he walked out. He thought of Thomas, sleeping soundly under his mother’s watchful eyes, and of Cordelia, still standing in the foyer, tears running down her cheeks, and of his mother, resting peacefully, oblivious to the news he was about to bring her. 

His mind ran through the past eight hours, considering all of the wrong things he might have done. All of the missteps he must have made. He'd need to apologize to Cordelia, certainly. Perhaps he had been too harsh with his father.

Whatever his mistakes, though, his mother and the baby were safe and healthy. Thomas was safe. His family was safe. For now, that needed to be enough. He needed to believe that they could heal from all that had happened in the past months, that they could overcome and grow from it. It might not be easy, it might be difficult and slow and painful, but it would happen. It would have to. 

With that, he continued on his way to the Silent City.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! come say hi on tumblr @nott-the-best


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